


Silver Bullets and Dragon Scales

by KingSmoft



Category: overwatch
Genre: Dragon!Hanzo, M/M, Monster Hunter AU, flower symbolism, moderate burn?, shapeshifter AU, suggestive thoughts, varying degrees of depictions of violence, werewolf!McCree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-06-14 07:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15384204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingSmoft/pseuds/KingSmoft
Summary: Deep in the woods, the things that go bump in the night tremble at the mere mention of a lone hunter's name. Jesse McCree's reputation precedes him beyond the forests and deserts and up into the high reaches of Dragon's Peak Mountain where his next mark lies in wait, a blizzard of a storm brewing beyond the hunter's wildest imagination.





	1. Camellia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Camellia japonica_
> 
> _\--any of a genus of shrubs or trees of the tea family; especially an ornamental greenhouse shrub with glossy leaves and rose-like flowers_
> 
> _**My Destiny is in Your Hands** _

High up in a snowy mountain range, far from any village, bereft of humanity, there was rumored to be a ferocious dragon. It was believed by some that the dragon watched over a great treasure. Others believed that if killed, one could gain immortality. Those who did not believe in fairy tales rolled their eyes at these dramatic storytellers, chalking it up to bandits or raiders who used a special blue fire as a weapon like the alchemists.

No one for certain knew the elusive answers to the many questions surrounding the dragon or his mountain. Adventurers who ventured that high into the mountains either died of frostbite before reaching the top, came back a scrambled mind and sent to an institution, or found in a heap of their own blood. And yet hunters of all kinds continued to try their luck on the Dragon’s Roar Peak.

That was how Jesse McCree, hunter extraordinaire, armed to the teeth with a blunderbuss, enchanted crossbow—that cost him _way_ too much coin—, a few experimental potions, and a specially made steel hand, found himself halfway up the side of the treacherous mountain. If he intended to get any further without dying, he’d have to change.

Literally.

Jesse placed his weapons in the mushy snow. He had found an outcropping that shielded him from the falling snow and blustering wind. A tiny fire licked warm sparks into the air. If he was going to transform, he had to do it quickly before his human body froze. His wolf form would be able to withstand the frozen air much easier. As he removed his clothing, dropping it to the ground unceremoniously, Jesse glanced out to the snowy wilderness. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to do this. It wasn’t a thing he really _liked_ to do. And without any food, he risked a greater chance of surrendering his mind to the wolf.

The only thing saving him was a _need_ to change.

When he had fully removed his clothing and set his weapons—including his arm—upright where he could easily wiggle into them again as a wolf, Jesse dropped to his one flesh hand and knees in a grunt. The cracking and popping started in his spine and forced its way through his legs and arms, stretching and ripping his muscles until they bent backwards and lengthened. His nails tore off, new black claws pushing their way forward. He let out a pain filled shout that devolved into a deep growl. A snout protruded from his face as his flatter human teeth fell out and gave way to a sharp canine’s set. After deep brown fur that matched his human hair sprouted all across his new body, the transformation was complete.

Jesse shook his head and body, flinging what fleshy bits were left over into the snow. He sniffed around, nose twitching over his weapons.

His.

Good, he had his mind still.

Jesse nosed the straps of his weapons over his head and onto his back. They hung oddly for a moment, then formed to his new body. The mechanical arm followed suit, realigning itself to suit a four-legged animal, the fingers and hand reforming to a paw. He silently thanked the Elven druid with a huff. The magicked straps and metal had been a good idea after all.

A low rumble made its way through his stomach. The transformation always used an insane amount of energy, and this time was no different. His chances of finding pray in this forest would be slim. He knew he might find a fox, but didn’t count on it. Instead, he lifted a leg, peed on his tiny fire, and faced the blizzard. His clothing would have to stay here. Not that it really bothered him. It wasn’t hard to… _procure_ more clothing once he needed it later down the road.

With one last glance at the safety of his miniature cave, Jesse steeled the rising nerves in his gut, and sprinted out into the frozen wilderness. The ice crystals stuck to the soft underside of his fur in clumps within seconds. The cold air had a harder time penetrating the fur, though. Jesse was—for once in his life—glad of the curse cast upon him.

He ran without stopping, galloping over the snowy hills, skirting around frozen ponds and streams, soaring over fallen logs, and winding through dense trees. He came skidding to a halt just at the edge of a medium-sized clearing. Limping through the scattered rocks of the riverside bank was a small fox. It was just what he had hoped to come across. He stopped and sniffed the air. As he expected, the tang of blood filled his nostrils. The odd part: it was two different types of blood.

Jesse hunkered down. What did that other scent belong to? It was…mystical. Almost like other shifters he had met, but different. Was someone else out here searching for the dragon’s lair? He waited. If something else was hunting this fox, it would appear to finish off the job. Unless it was an idiot and lost it. Visibility was still low, the other side of the clearing visible, but not much beyond that.

The wolf waited a few more moments before deciding to trot out to the collapsed fox, his stomach growling in excitement, begging him to go faster. He glanced over his shoulders. Still nothing.

Reaching the near dead fox, an overwhelming scent of **danger** overpowered his nose. It carried the smell of roaring embers, sharpened steel, and a musky something that suggested a need for a bath. This was not a dragon’s smell. This was a hunter’s.

Just as Jesse looked up, a striped cat even larger than himself burst through the tree line to his right. Even as a cat, he could see a grin spread across its jowls. This was not a normal shifter. Jesse would bet his Deadwood Crossbow on this shifter having lost his mind to the spirit of the cat that now enveloped his human consciousness, if the fur matted in blood was anything to go by.

The cat stalked around the edge of the trees, circling toward Jesse and the whimpering fox. His eyes darted around his surroundings. There was no where to go, and this cat could easily outrun him. He was more limber, sure, but he’d only end up like this fox: broken and bleeding on the side of a river, unable to help or protect himself. He watched the cat. It looked like a mix between a tiger and a lion: stripes covered its body, leaving a variation of a dark and light blonde in harsh contrast to the bright red blood dripping from its face. The fox had fought back, leaving deep scratches over one of its eyes. Unfortunately for the fox, the price of an eye was a back leg.

There would be no time to transform back into a human, disregarding the fact that he’d only freeze to death in the process. He would have to fight. The loss of an eye combined with his own litheness gave Jesse the high ground. If he was careful and avoided those huge claws and teeth, he just might make it out of this alive.

The cat continued to circle Jesse, slowly closing in on them. He continued to turn with it, keeping his body angled slightly to the side for a quick duck out of the way if it decided to lunge. A growl ripped through the cat’s throat, signaling his pounce. Jesse dove, barely flicking his tail out of the way of large jaws. His feet skidded him around in the rocks. He faced the cat head on. A quick glance behind him showed him the pond.

The pond!

Jesse let his own growl rumble out of his chest, egging it on. The cat’s head whipped around to him.

 

A yowl and another pounce.

 

A sure-footed dodge and a huff.

 

The cat landed with a _thud!_ on the ice. It spun around, its paws unable to find purchase. Any time it tried to stand, its paws slipped out from under it. Each time it landed, a soft crack sounded. Jesse took this time to try and unbuckle the pouch with one of his potions in it. If he could just—

_Bam!_

Jesse had slipped. He allowed the cat to quietly get a grip on the ice and slam into him, knocking him to the ground. Claws ripped into his hide. Blood stained teeth went for his neck.

Jesse struggled against the cat, to no avail.

_This is it…_

He kicked with his feet, scrabbled as much as he could.

… _This is where I die._

The teeth began tearing at his neck, struggling through the thick protective fur. Jesse bared his own teeth.

_No!_

_This ain’t where I die like a damned rabbit!_

Jesse put all his strength behind his legs and willed his escape into them, pushing off with great force. The cat went flying, taking a small hunk of meat from his neck with him. Jesse howled in pain. His vision crossed as he watched the cat sail into a nearby boulder, its head cracking against it.

Jesse collapsed to the ground in meager triumph. The cat was dead. But so was he. He would bleed out before he could get anywhere substantial. Transforming was, once again, out of the question. The wolf’s eyes closed to the fox whose chest had long since stopped moving.

 

High above the frozen forests, a lone dragon swirled through the low hanging clouds. He was content to scout his land from the skies, searching for a meal that would last him. Hunting was all but entertaining no matter the form he took. He much preferred spring when he could travel to the nearby villages at the mountain’s base, when the trees were in bloom and the newborn animals came out to play.

But here…the dragon could sense death. Winter only ever brought death to his doorstep, and ever since that new creature had moved in… Winter was long and unending. And there—there in that clearing, winter seemed to be taking its next victim. The stench of battle hit him like a tidal wave, even from this distance. Curious, he moved closer. Just above the treetops, he stopped. His tail flicked around in circles below his long, winding body.

Ah, the cat he had been keeping an eye on had finally met his match. Knocked in the head by brute force no less. The bright blue dragon huffed.

_The irony._

However, the wolf was new, and not the creature he had expected. When the dragon saw that blood still seeped from a heaving body, he sprang forward, tail whipping hard in the air. He quickly flew down close, transforming as he went. The shifter dropped to the ground, fully clothed, and pulled the ribbon from his hair. This was no ordinary wolf, as he had suspected of the cat. This wolf was a shifter, and still possessed his mind. The bright brown eyes rolling up into the wolf’s head held a certain note of humanity. He had to do something. That cat should have died weeks ago. If he had actually killed him the moment he stepped onto his land then this wolf wouldn’t be…

The dragon shifter forced the thoughts from his mind. He pressed the long yellow ribbon into his neck, dodging the snapping jaw still feisty enough to fight back.

“Enough!” He said and the wolf paused. “I am here to help you, you fool.”

The nameless shifter quickly transformed once he bound the wound enough to carry him without the wolf dying. His cabin was not far from their current position. The wolf had gotten lucky; he had almost made it to his destination. He wondered what he would’ve done had the wolf actually found it. He would’ve been the first in many, many years.

Grabbing the wolf in his large talons, the dragon carried him to his home hidden among the frozen forests of the mountaintop, careful not to drop him.

 

 

• • •

 

 

Jesse came to with a start, sitting forcefully up in a bed as if he meant to fight off an attacker.

Wait.

 

He _came to._

 

_In a bed._

 

_A_ _**human** _ _bed!_

 

Last he checked, he was lying on snow covered rocks hallucinating a glowing blue dragon as he choked on his own blood and saliva, his neck ripped out. Jesse winced. His hand flew to his neck where the cat shifter had gnawed on it. How had he survived?

Jesse took in the room he was in.

_And where the hell was he?!_

He jumped out of the bed, ignoring his screaming muscles. When the cool air in the cabin blew across his body, he realized something.

“Why the hell am I naked?!” Jesse yelled out.

A soft pair of footsteps alerted him to the final fact of the moment that he was not alone. Jesse’s head whipped around, looking for anything that could substitute as a weapon. He grabbed the tall candlestick off the wooden bedside table just as the door to the room he was in opened.

Jesse dropped into a defensive stance, the candle poised out in front of him. A—quite handsome, if he allowed himself to admit—man with long dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail strode into the room. He held his hands at his sides. Jesse saw no weapon in sight. He didn’t stand up straight.

The man looked him up and down. Jesse ignored the deep flush rising up from his neck, realizing how he must look right now with no pants on.

“I see you have finally woken.” The man said, his voice calm and even. He sounded almost regal. Jesse’s eyebrows furrowed, and his teeth clenched—a wolf-like snarl.

“Who the fuck are ya, huh? The hell am I here for?”

The man scowled back. “Are Hunters always this brash to the people who save their lives?” The words were biting.

Jesse froze. Saved his life? He couldn’t help the confused snarl that returned to his face.

“You…?”

“And what did you plan to do with that candle stick, exactly?” He swore he could’ve pinpointed a tone of playfulness in his voice, but the man’s expression gave no hint to it.

“Trust me when I say I can make a weapon outta anythin’.” Jesse stated. He looked down at the candle stick but didn’t replace it. “Who are you?”

He hadn’t expected the man to pause. Or to have _that_ expression flicker across his face; something like hesitancy, his eyes flicking to the side. But it was soon gone, a schooled, neutral look quickly taking its place.

“You may call me… Hanzo.” The man—Hanzo?— turned from Jesse. He paused at the door. “Dinner is almost ready. And there is clothing in the wardrobe. Unless you prefer to be in the nude. In which case, you may follow me.”

Jesse looked over to where Hanzo had motioned. He heard the door shut, Hanzo taking for granted that the hunter did not, in fact, prefer to be naked, and he was free to look around. If he really was ‘ _free_ ’ at all right now.

He made his way slowly to the wardrobe, replacing the candle stick as he went. Based on Hanzo’s elfish style, he had an idea of what to expect. It didn’t take him long to find a suitable pair of pants, as their style ran looser than most human-made clothing, giving plenty of slack for his bulkier body. The shirts, however, were slightly snug across his broad chest and shoulders, despite his host’s own obviously muscular body. He pulled one out that tied at the top, allowing him to leave it open and loose, the short strings hanging lazily down.

As he would have it, there was no need for shoes in this wooden cabin. The floors, unlike most he had been in, were oddly warm, a stark contrast to the howling winds beating against the windows outside. How was that even possible? What magic surrounded this lone structure?

Jesse pushed the thoughts just to the edge of his mind. Right now, he needed food. And a lot of it. If it weren’t for that, he might not have left the room and instead searched for a way to escape. As it was, he was surprised he could even walk right now.

As he reached for the doorknob, he spotted himself in a simple wall mirror. His hair looked combed—a thing not often found when he woke from a shift—dark half moons sunk in underneath his deep brown eyes, and a large bandage, red already seeping through in pin pricks, was wrapped around his neck. He reached a hand up, fingers twitching at the edge of the soft fabric. There was little pain, but somehow he knew if he removed this bandage, it would all come seething back. A bite like that didn’t just disappear, even with a shifter’s quick healing. He dropped his hand.

Jesse had way too many questions that needed answers.

The only place he’d get them, much to his hesitation, was outside of this room with the mysterious stranger. Now he had two regrettable reasons to leave the room. Jesse steeled himself, bringing back his many years of training, and left the room. His defenses were high, ready to duck and roll out of the way of a threat, ready to scan his surroundings for anything to use as another weapon—preferably one sharper than a candle stick. What he didn’t expect to see was a large open room set up similarly to the bedroom, with Hanzo sitting quietly at a small table, unmarked book in hand. Across from him sat a plate with meat, fruit, and bread with a tall glass of a light amber liquid next to it. Hanzo’s plate was nearly empty, but he had made plenty, with extras sitting on a nearby counter just waiting to be devoured.

Jesse walked forward slowly, still wary of the too mundane surroundings and feel of the cabin. His stomach and nose urged him forward. The food smelled absolutely _delicious._ Had he made it all himself? Jesse sat cautiously, his paranoia the only thing keeping him from digging in immediately. His mouth began to water as he stared at the food, trying to decide if it was poisoned or not.

“Oh, fuck it,” Jesse ground out and barely stopped long enough to pick up his utensils to start shoveling food into his mouth. After a few mouthfuls and several moans of delicious pleasure later, he was aware of Hanzo looking up at him over the edge of his book, the cover blank of words, but beautifully designed with swirling gold etchings. Hanzo placed an equally as elegant bookmark between the pages then placed his book down. “I see you eat as crassly as you are boorish.”

Jesse didn’t pause as he took a large bite from the small loaf of bread, purposefully ripping a large chunk out. It hung half out of his mouth as he spoke. “I can be polite when I need to, just ask the bartenders down at any tavern on this side of Dragon’s Peak River.” He gave Hanzo a quick wink, to which the other man simply rolled his eyes. Jesse let out a huff of a laugh. It just might be some fun to tease the stick out of Hanzo’s ass. So far, it seemed he might be able to trust this man. Might. “Are you always this sassy to people who die near your house?” Jesse asked.

Hanzo harrumphed. “You did not ‘die’.”

Jesse gently brushed his fingers across his neck, glancing up at the beautiful man across from him. If he had just woken up on the side of a river somewhere, he might’ve thought an angel had saved him. “Could’a fooled me.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed just a tiny bit in suspicion. “What were you even doing that far up the mountain? Are there not cautions to the danger? If I had not spotted you when I had, then you would have died for sure.”

His avoidance of the statement was not lost on Jesse, but a sudden bolt of irritation flashed behind his eyes. Who was he to lecture him on the safety of being so high up the mountain? “I could say the same to ya, _friend._ There ain’t no need to lecture me on what’s too dangerous. I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Clearly.” Hanzo crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. The sleeves of his robe fell back slightly, revealing the stormy head of a dragon on his left forearm. Jesse studied everything around him, plainly ignoring the man and his tattoo as _he_ studied _him._ Jesse pushed down the blush attempting to rat out his embarrassment at being looked over so cynically by such sharp eyes. He scowled deeper, making a point of not looking at him.

When he finally had nothing else to use to avoid eye contact and no more food to eat, he cleared his throat. It might as well be time to start asking some actual questions, starting with one that was only partially answered. “Who are ya, anyway?”

Hanzo didn’t budge; his knit eyebrows and crossed limbs as closed off as ever. “I already told you.”

“You know what I mean: why were ya in the forest, too, and how did ya even find me before I bled out? That was a pretty nasty bite. I shouldn’t’ve survived. And how did ya even drag me back here? It’s not like I’m some young, spring chicken with no muscle or fat on his bones.” Jesse patted his full belly.

A heavy silence permeated the cozy room. If it weren’t for the situation, Jesse might’ve felt relaxed. Something about the cottage reminded him of an old cabin his mother used to take him to during the summer. He waited for Hanzo to speak, watching the other man as his scowl deepened to something darker and unsure. Hanzo stood without a word. Jesse leaned back slightly, watching him, hands pushing against the edge of the table.

Hanzo strode across the room toward a mantle over a wide stone fireplace. Inset in the center were two dragons etched into a circle, their mouths opening toward the other’s tail. It reminded Jesse heavily of the Ouroboros. When he ran his fingers over it, blue sparks flicked out. Jesse stood quickly, understanding exactly where he was before the sparks could completely die off.

Jesse opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. He had been picked up by the elusive dragon of the mountain. The fever dream he had during his unconsciousness was real: a dragon had turned into a beautiful man and saved him like a damned fairy tale.

“I am the dragon people spread malicious rumors about in the valleys below. I found you dying in the snow. I had to save you.”

Jesse stepped backward, stumbling awkwardly over the chair. He had fought dark elves and beasts and wild shifters and seen people fall in love and kingdoms fall. He had lost his arm, nearly lost a tail, and discovered the power of magic combined with metal and skin and all manner of things to save a man’s life. But he had never come across a dragon shapeshifter that treated its curse as a something so simple.

“You’re tellin’ me that I came up into these mountains to prove myself to some drunken assholes in a damn tavern that I could find the dragon and live just to end up almost gettin’ my neck chewed off over a fuckin’ fox and end up gettin’ _saved_ by said dragon?”

Hanzo turned to Jesse, his eyebrows low and harsh. “I am beginning to regret it.”

“Oh ho, this is _rich!_ John and what’s-his-name are gonna be owin’ me big bags when I get back—,” Jesse paused. He watched Hanzo carefully. “I am gettin’ back, right?”

The dragon sat down on a decent sized chair made for one. It looked ridiculously soft and comfy. He obviously controlled the situation right now. Jesse felt like an intruder to a king’s private chambers.

He couldn’t help the image crossing his mind of being the king’s secret lover, as well.

“No one is leaving right now. It is not safe.”

“Not safe? Wha’d’ya mean ‘not safe?’” Jesse crossed the room to stand in front of Hanzo. The image of Jesse at Hanzo’s knees flew out of his mind as the anger set in. “What could be worse than that feral shifter, or a band of dark elves? Or, hell, the blizzard I ran through to get here?”

Hanzo took a deep breath and sighed. He thought for a moment, then began moving his hands in the air, the blue magic from earlier seeping out of his fingertips. They stopped, and between them hung a cloaked humanoid figure with serrated claws and icy extremities. He let the image hang silently in the air until it disappeared in a dramatic whirl of smoke. “My kind call it a Reaper. It is an entity that thrives on the souls of the living. This one particularly enjoys this mountain during the winter, ultimately causing the never ending storm.”

“What is he, a ghoul?” The haunting image clung to Jesse’s thoughts despite it dissipating from the air before him. How had he never heard of such a being? Sure dark elves were constantly going on about some darker being they worshiped that would make them stronger, but he never paid them any attention, always chalking it up to some false god or idol. Now… he wasn’t so sure.

“It does not matter. You are in no condition to fight him. You will only get yourself killed and waste my scale.”

“Wait, scale?”

Hanzo huffed and stood once more. He left Jesse’s question hanging in the air like an icicle from a roof overhang. Quietly, he strode around his coffee table and over to Jesse who was watching his every move, still on edge. He still didn’t trust this dragon, and couldn’t figure out why he seemed to trust _him_. He took a step back, but Hanzo followed, fingers reaching for his neck. Jesse attempted to jerk away but gasped in sudden hot pain. Hanzo grabbed him by the chin, holding him in place. With gentle, practiced fingers, he lifted an edge of the bandage. Jesse watched as his features went from stern to just plain scowling to a simple calm. He let Jesse go and walked past him.

“Come,” Hanzo commanded.

Jesse had frozen in place, the ghost of warm, thick fingers on his jaw. They had been surprisingly gentle for the firm grasp, and not at all rough or scaly. He didn’t know what he had expected… Maybe that Hanzo, a dragon shifter, would have rough, reptilian-like hide instead of human skin? Why, as if he was super hairy because of his curse and not genetics? Gods above, he was a fuckin’ idiot. He rubbed his fingers into his scruffy beard.

 

_But there was something about that touch…_

 

Jesse finally pulled his head out of his hairy ass and turned to face Hanzo who was turning back as well, standing on the other side of the dining area.

 

_A tingle_ _that_ _still sparked at his_ _rough_ _skin…_

 

“Wh-What?”

 

_It sent a chill up his stiff spine…_

 

“Come with me.”

 

_A pull like a thread_ _wrapped around his chest_ _._

 

Jesse finally followed him out of a door surrounded in strange markings that held a faint yellowish orange glow. Hanzo threw open the door to reveal a short pathway. Jesse gaped. It was outside, but not. Around them was a wall of shimmering blue the color of ice melt rivers. It was pleasantly warm and not at all cold. The ground was paved with asymmetrical stones of varying colors as if Hanzo had dug through the snow and grabbed whatever he could find. Jesse went to reach out toward the blue magic field with his fingers when a hand clasped onto his wrist.

“Do not touch that.” Hanzo said.

Jesse eyed the shimmering wall as Hanzo let his hand go. “Yessir…”

Hanzo ignored the hunter as he continued down the short path to a garden full of colorful flowering plants, vines wrapping up poles and reaching toward the equally shimmering ceiling, any and all witch’s plants anyone could ever want or need. But Hanzo was not here for his many plants. Along a blue wall to the right sat a wide cabinet full of bottles and jugs and baskets. What he needed was already made up, minus the scale he had mentioned. He picked up the lavender salve jar that had etchings similar to those around the doors and windows.

“What’s that?” Jesse asked, peaking over the shorter man’s shoulder.

“Have you never seen a salve jar before?” Hanzo asked, his tone easily condescending.

Jesse frowned and stepped back. He popped a hip out indignantly, his hands on his hips. “Now I may be a simple Hunter, darlin’, but I ain’t slow. I’ve used many a salve jar in my adventures, but _that one_ ,” Jesse jerked his head in the direction of Hanzo’s hand, a thumb pointing toward it, “is obviously special.”

Hanzo’s eyes cut over to Jesse. He paused a moment before pulling a nearby stool over. “Sit.”

“I ain’t—,” Jesse started, but Hanzo silenced him.

“Sit, and I will show you.”

Jesse did as he was told with as little hesitation as he could muster and sat on the chair, back slumped. When Hanzo began rifling in one of the baskets, he perked up. In the other man’s hand was a familiar flash of otherworldly blue and indigo. It was a scale from Hanzo’s dragon form. Jesse watched as he crushed it up with one of the fanciest looking mortar and pestle he had ever seen until it became a fine powder. The hunter sat up straight when Hanzo turned around, looking off in another direction, pretending not to be as curious as he actually was. Jesse missed the small smirk that played across Hanzo’s lips, especially as he got in close to his neck.

The breath caught in Jesse’s throat as Hanzo gently pulled the bandage from his neck, unwrapping it until it fell to the ground. Jesse fully expected pain to come rushing full force back into his neck as he had assumed it would earlier. However, nothing happened as Hanzo grabbed the powdered scale and a thick brush, leaning in close once more. As he dabbed the brush into the mortar and brushed it onto Jesse’s wound, he said, “The rumors about a dragon granting immortality are more true than those surrounding trespassers; though I am beginning to change my mind about leniency.”

Hanzo’s voice was steady and even, almost like a father telling a bedtime story. Jesse waited on bated breath for Hanzo to continue. The dragon had an odd way of either speaking in circles or hardly at all. Either way, he always left Jesse hanging onto every word.

“This scale, taken—not without sacrifice—from my own shoulder can heal from the near brink of death.”

Jesse couldn’t help but glance at Hanzo’s shoulder, wondering if, beneath all those layers, if he was scarred on his human body from ripping out his own scales to help people. He couldn’t imagine giving literal pieces of himself to save someone. He still barely believed some nights that he had lost his arm. And that was more a regretful accident than a heroic deed. It wasn’t him who’d been heroic that fateful night.

“Alone, it cannot revive a person… But at a dear cost…” Hanzo’s words fell quietly off his tongue until they came to a stop. He pulled away from Jesse. “I knew someone once who tried.”

Jesse could hear the finality in Hanzo’s voice and instantly new the ending to the abrupt story. He didn’t push the topic. He knew all too well the pain of losing someone no matter the circumstances.

“So what’s the salve for then?” Jesse asked instead. The question seemed to snap Hanzo back to the present. He left to pick the jar up then returned to Jesse.

“It is an old remedy. By itself, it is a simple healing salve, but combined with this scale, it speeds up the healing process and fights infection. It will even lower the appearance of scars. I used it on you to stop blood flow resulting in blood loss.”

Hanzo wrapped a new length of bandage around Jesse’s neck, a thick pad of cotton just over the wound. When he was done, Jesse ran a hand across the covered wound. The pain from jerking his neck had diminished.

“Ya really did save my hide, huh?”

“…It was the least I could do.” Hanzo turned from him.

“The least you could do?” Jesse looked over to him, hand still on his neck.

“For a man whose name I do not even know: yes.” Hanzo leaned against his potions rack. A smirk spread across his lips.

Oh.

_Oh._

Jesse realized then that he had never given Hanzo his name and the man was making a joke. A goddamn joke just came out of that—so far—serious face. Well, if that’s how he wanted to play it, then…

“Well, darlin’, all ya had to do was ask.” Jesse leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, grinning up at Hanzo. “Name’s McCree, or Jesse to those who don’t wanna kill me yet.”

“Jesse it is, then.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment. It hung in the air like the mist floating around the deep green plants that required constant moisture. This other, special shifter didn’t seem to pose him any threat. He had saved him after all. But he watched as the scowl returned to its rightful place on Hanzo’s face.

“Jesse…” He muttered, thinking. “Jesse… McCree... As in the infamous monster hunter with a vengeance from Hell itself?”

The hunter stiffed up. The tone in Hanzo’s voice had quickly sharpened. “That’s what they tend to call me...” He answered carefully.

Hanzo hummed. “You came here to kill me.”

It was neither a question nor an accusation. It was simply a fact, stated in cold acceptance. Jesse had to admit that it was a fact he had already forgotten. He raised his hands in defense.

He wasn’t even sure he wanted to claim this dragon as a kill trophy anymore.

“Woah, woah, hey! Calm down, there, pardner. No one’s killin’ anyone! I never said I’d came here to kill you.” Jesse remained seated, eyes big and wide staring up at Hanzo, his hands raised in defense. He would have swore that the air crackled with energy.

“That is why you were in the mountain, no? To hunt and kill the elusive dragon who only wishes to live peacefully among his plants for fame and fortune? A simple trophy to take back to the ignorance you call the Lodge. What did you want? My horns on a mount? My scaled pelt as a rug? My heart for a witch? My treasures for your leader? I should kill you were you stand.” Hanzo spit every word like the venom they were. He had come off the cupboard, taking small steps toward Jesse who had stood from his seat as well.

“And what, become the very monster they claim you to be?” The hair on Jesse’s neck stood on dark end. He didn’t notice his own chest beginning to push out like a proud but angry bird.

“You claim me to be that monster too, do you not?” Hanzo poked Jesse in the chest with a finger. The dragon noticed his own nails going black but didn’t care. How dare this _dog_ come in here—

Jesse stepped into Hanzo’s space, glowering down at him. The taller man didn’t need to start a shift in order to give off such a beastly aura.

“Don’t you presume to know what I think, _Hanzo_.”

Hanzo fell silent but didn’t back off. Jesse took a few more moments to stare Hanzo down before stepping back and turning away. He shoved his thumbs into the waistband of his borrowed pants that were just a might too short. He sighed.

“You’re right, though. I _did_ think you a monster to hunt, but not entirely for fame and fortune, mind you.” He heard Hanzo take a step forward, imagined his mouth poised open to yell at him, and held a hand up. “I see I was wrong... Partially.”

“What?”

Jesse turned to grin at Hanzo. The memory of Hanzo transforming from a lengthy, flying dragon into a rather average height man had begun to dig at his memory. If he believed in angels being a pure and guiding force, he might’ve still considered Hanzo one. Maybe that was just the whole death bed situation talking.

Hanzo scowled further at him. “At least I am not the one with fleas.”

The grin fell from Jesse’s face. “What?! I ain’t got flees!”

Hanzo kept a straight face as he turned to leave his magical greenhouse. Jesse scrambled to follow. “Do not get them in my house, or I may have to actually put you down.”

“I’m tellin’ ya! I ain’t got no flees! I’m a werewolf, not a common house dog!”

Hanzo cleared his throat to keep the laugh from rising out of him as Jesse continued to whine like a pup about his nonexistent flees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating on this fic is still up in the air, as things may change. I don't plan on censoring anything considered NSFW or canonically violent, but I can't be certain to what degree these types of things may happen. If anything becomes worthy of the mature or explicit rating, you can be sure that I will up it and include a beginning chapter note!
> 
> If you wanna keep up to date with small details, follow me on tumblr at KingSmoft and check for my "sbads updates" tag! I try to post a small update at least once a day.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!


	2. Queen Anne's Lace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Daucus carota_
> 
> _\--a widely naturalized Eurasian biennial herb which has a whitish acrid taproot and flat, lace-like clusters of tiny white flowers and from which the cultivated carrot originated_
> 
> _**Haven, Sanctuary** _

The wolf was not quiet. Hanzo hadn’t heard a man speak so much in his entire life, not even his brother. A mere few hours in his mountainside retreat of a home and Jesse was already telling him his life story, even the…intimate…bits in extreme detail. He didn’t seem to notice when Hanzo hid behind his cup, ears burning red, when he described the particular way his lover’s ass had looked as he pushed into him. Not even Genji had ever been this detailed in his recounts of his own escapades. Hanzo sighed quietly into his mug when Jesse skipped over the rest of the night’s events until he told him that the man just up and left once they were done.

Jesse leaned back on the small couch he sat on, catty-corner from Hanzo. He patted his legs and hips, fishing for a cigar. _Oh right_ , Jesse thought grimly. He didn’t have any. Any and all cigars he had brought with him onto the mountain were left in the clothes he abandoned in the snow. He looked up to see Hanzo gazing at him over his cup with his eyebrows stitched together. Jesse blanched.

“Did I share too much?” He asked, suddenly aware of the fact that he had, in fact, shared entirely way too much. “Sometimes I get caught up in what I’m sayin’ and don’t always realize…”

“Why did the man leave?” Hanzo interrupted him. Sure, Jesse had started going into detail then skipped it all, but Hanzo had gotten hung up on the end of the story.

Jesse blinked a few times. He looked into Hanzo’s confused eyes. He remembered the charcoal brown eyes of his one-and-only one night stand that actually left an impact on him. Jesse looked away from Hanzo’s equally deep brown prying eyes. Maybe he had a type.

Jesse shrugged. “‘Dunno. Just did. It wa’n’t like I was gonna ask.”

There was a time when he would’ve forced the conversation elsewhere. So what if he had fallen in love with the guy? So what if maybe it was just infatuation? So what if he spent a year hunting demons to get him off his mind. That was then, and now… He didn’t know what now. The man staring at him only a few small feet away was just as enticing as _he_ had been, with his outer layers removed and now in a more comfortable garb with a too low crossing neckline that allowed him to see the inner outline of his pecs and the tail of the dragon tattoo. If they had been anywhere but here and in this situation, Jesse might’ve already tried to hit on Hanzo in the corniest way possible.

“I never understood how people could have such an intimate night with someone they barely know.” Hanzo sounded almost angry, an odd bite to the words.

“Sometimes shit just happens, darlin’. You fuck some, you lose all.” Jesse said.

“Maybe to you, but not to me.”

Jesse looked the dragon up and down slowly. He shrugged again. “To each their own.”

“Well, my own will stay right where it is at.”

Man, he really needed a light: the itch in his fingers to strike up a match and the tingle in his lips to puff on the end. “Don’t think you’ll ever find someone you’d like to with?”

 

_Jesse could imagine his face pressed up between Hanzo’s pecks. He wouldn’t mind being that someone._

 

Jesse shifted in his position on the couch. Now was _not_ the time for those thoughts that liked to force their ways into the forefront of his mind.

He watched Hanzo mull it over, leaning back in the other chair. The edge of his clothing fell open just a bit more. It was easy to tell that Hanzo was used to being alone, not worrying about what skin was showing, but he also seemed to be unbothered by the idea of nudity in general. After all, he had looked over Jesse when he stood in front of him wearing nothing but a candlestick in his hand without so much as cracking a grin.

 

_Would he ever let Jesse pull his hips toward him by the loose fabric hanging there?_

 

“I cannot say. Not in the way that you speak of sex.” Hanzo embellished no further.

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be exactly like my… experiences. Everyone’s diff’rent.”

Jesse let the words fall into silence along with Hanzo. What else could he say? That now that he had his wits back about himself, he realized just how handsome his rescuer was, and would love to push him up against a wall? Jesse was a sparkling conversationalist and unabashedly outgoing, but he wasn’t an asshole.

Apparently, Hanzo didn’t have an answer.

It was some time before either man spoke again. Surprisingly, it was Hanzo. “You never mentioned how you got your abilities. It is obvious that you are not a normal shifter.”

“What makes ya say that, darlin’? Is it the hair? I’m told I don’t look much like a wolf.” Jesse grinned at Hanzo who sent a neutral unimpressed look back at him. “N-Not to say that you look like a dragon?” Jesse attempted to recover. Hanzo rolled his eyes.

“No. It is your smell. A curse hangs about your heart like fog over a low valley,” He said.

Jesse’s hand went instinctively to his chest as he looked down. “That obvious, huh?”

Hanzo placed his now empty cup onto the short table between them. “I have had many years to practice.”

“You come across many shifters?”

“Only a few every year, easily counted on a single hand. They are not usually an issue. It is the cursed feral and occasional elemental that I must look out for.”

“Like the jackass that attacked me?” It really did seem that the dangers surrounding this mountain stemmed from more than just a territorial dragon. Elementals tended to attack anyone that drew near enough, and in this kind of weather, they could be deadly. Come to think of it, Jesse was surprised he hadn’t run into any on his way up.

Hanzo sneered. “Unfortunately, yes. I should not have let him live as long as I had.”

“So…” Jesse started, now curious about Hanzo’s story. “Why did you?”

Jesse noticed that Hanzo seemed to pause a lot before speaking. This time was no different as Hanzo mulled over his question. He wondered if he knew the answer to Jesse’s question already or just wasn’t sure if he should share. Jesse soon got his answer, though, when Hanzo spoke once more.

“I was curious,” Hanzo said, “As to what he would do. I had been watching him for some time now.”

“Sorry for, uh, killing your entertainment.” Jesse said, though with a hint of sarcasm. He hadn’t been sorry at all, really.

“He was not my ‘amusement’.” Hanzo spat back. “I was studying him. You may have brute forced your way into killing him, but I prefer to take as little damage as I can manage or none at all. Plus I was hoping to see if he would lead me to the real issue behind this mountain.”

Jesse crossed his arms and sunk into the chair. He pursed his lips and made a talking motion with one hand, mimicking Hanzo. “‘I take as little damage as I can.’ It’s not like I planned to fight him.”

“You are a child.” Hanzo scolded. “Did no one teach you how to be a mature adult?”

Jesse’s original indignation turned to something darker. His crossed arms tightened, seemed to hold himself in, and he looked off to the side. His voice became quiet. “No. They didn’t.”

Hanzo inhaled quietly, attempting to draw the words back into him. But it was too late. He had fucked up. That wasn’t hard to see. “I…”

The shake of Jesse’s head silenced him, all the energy from before gone. The moon of pain had eclipsed over the playful sun.

“I was… about 12,” Jesse began. He was hesitant at first, not entirely sure how to start. He didn’t even know why he was about to tell Hanzo this story. No one had heard it since it had happened. “Y’know how only cursed “were” folks turn feral, right? It’s part of the whole curse thing.” Jesse waved a hand in the air, “Anyway, my dad had long since been gone to war with the neighboring kingdom. We never expected him to return, no one ever did. He was a pawn placed on the front lines, moved two spaces ahead until someone else got to ‘im.

“But we didn’t live in the village, so as a kid I never really played with anyone else except when we went into town. I had a well enough imagination to entertain myself, though. Funny enough, my favorite game to play was Monster Hunter out in the woods. Usually vampires, but werewolves and ghouls, too. They were common around our parts…” Jesse paused, biting at his lip. The next part was always the hardest for him to even think about, for good reason.

Hanzo could see the pain on his face despite some of it being hidden behind his hair. Should he move closer? Offer comfort? What would most people do in such a situation? What if he wanted space? Hanzo berated himself for not knowing how to handle the situation. Give him a bow and a target, and he’ll find you ten ways to easily place an arrow in the mark. Give him an emotionally compromised being, and he’ll show you ten ways to freeze up. He settled with using just words. “You do not have to continue. I am sorry for bringing it up..”

Jesse let out a forced laugh. It sounded choked like he was just barely keeping from crying. A bittersweet smile crossed his wide set lips. “Nah, it’s fine. I got this far already didn’t I?

“But, ah, my ma… If there’s any Gods left, let ‘em bless her soul. Ain’t no hunter braver’n her.” Jesse took a deep breath. “A feral werewolf—mind lost to the stomach of the wolf—crashed into our lil homestead. I had just come back from gallivantin’ off in the woods nearby. She was still outside, other side of the house, didn’t see or hear him comin’. I must’a reeked of somethin’ good. Next thing I knew, a wolf too big to be normal, eyes too wild to be natural, was chompin’ at my arm like a turkey leg at the faire. I’d never felt somethin’ so painful…”

Jesse shivered and his hand went to grab the juncture between his skin and the enchanted metal. It was the one thing Hanzo had let him have back. The rest of his weapons were safely locked away Gods know where. Jesse hadn’t been the only one with trust issues, even before he knew he’d meant to kill him.

“Ma bust in just as his teeth ground down on bone. I remember hearin’ a scream, not sure who, and then a broomstick to the side of his head. He went flying, but took the rest of my arm with him. I was free, but he had then set his eyes on my ma… He went for her throat and she went for his. I guess I got my swift handiwork from her, ‘cause she had broken the broom just in time to stab it into him as he bit down on her. They both died, and I nearly did.”

Jesse took a deep breath, the climax of his story over. The pain of his past creeping deep into his heart.

“Even til this day I cain’t figure out why some random feral busted down our door to kill us. Sometimes I wish I could’a gone on a vengeance hunt to kill him, but she’d already taken care of that. Sacrificed herself…” Jesse shrugged, unable to formulate an appropriate gesture besides. “Now I just hunt everything else.”

The hunter fell silent, lost in his memories. He patted his body again, arms sluggish, looking for his vice, and cursed when he remembered he didn’t have any. Hanzo stood, left the room for a moment, and returned with a small, ornate box in hand. Without speaking, he sat next to Jesse, easily filling the space. Opening it gingerly, Hanzo revealed a set of small, thin cigars. To his surprise, they were much like the ones Jesse usually carried around. They even held the same branding mark.

“Take one,” Hanzo said. If he could not offer physical or emotional support, he could at least offer a bad habit.

Jesse grabbed one with shaky fingers. Hanzo closed the box, setting it aside, and motioned for Jesse to come—even—closer. He snapped his fingers, a tiny flame coming to life at the tip of his thumb. They both leaned in, Hanzo’s eyes on the cigar, Jesse’s on Hanzo.

Once it was lit, Jesse took a deep drag off the small cigar, sighed, and leaned back into the couch, eyes closed. His body relaxed, and he became slightly aware of the fact that his knee had rested against Hanzo’s. He was also aware of the fact that Hanzo hadn’t pulled away yet.

“You have no idea how good this is,” Jesse practically _moaned._ How long had it been since his last one? Days? The addiction plagued him even in wolf form, a constant nagging at the forefront of his mind with nothing to do about it but run faster.

“Speakin’ a which… How long was I out anyway?” He gazed over at Hanzo who sat with his hands balled in his lap.

“Several days. I did not think you would wake up. I had never nursed anyone back to health before.”

Jesse jolted forward. “You tellin’ me that was all on a _whim?!”_

“Do not get your blood boiling. I had seen it done many times before back among my people. We were known more for our healing at one time than our killing. And I have tended to my own fair share of wounds, just not near as fatal.”

“Good thing, I guess.” Jesse said. He rested his elbows on his knees. “So what now?”

“What do you mean?”

The smoke drifted up from Jesse’s cigar as it sat between his fingers. He studied the orange embers on the end. “I mean: I’m sure you don’t want me here any longer than I have to be. Soon as I’m able… I can be outta your hair.”

“Mmm…” Hanzo hummed. He heard Jesse sigh.

“How can I repay you for this, though? It ain’t every day that you go out huntin’ a dragon, and he saves your useless ass.”

Hanzo held up a hand. “There is no need. I only ask that you waylay any other hunters looking to collect.”

Jesse shook his head. “Nah, I cain’t leave it at just that. There’s no guarantee that it’d even work! Who’s gonna listen to the hunter that came back empty handed?” He thought for a moment. There had to be _something_ he could do for Hanzo. Something that was more substantial than a mere word of mouth distraction.

Suddenly, he had a great and terrible idea.

Emphasis on the terrible.

“Well…” Jesse drawled out. “What if I helped you with your Reaper-elemental-monster problem?”

“I cannot ask you to risk your life once more.” Hanzo said quickly. He stood up and rounded on Jesse. “I already said—!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s too dangerous.” Jesse stood, too. “I’m stronger than I’ve already proven myself to be. Let me help you kill it. With the two of us, we cain’t lose.”

Hanzo said nothing. He studied Jesse and his deep brown begging eyes. How could he refuse help with such a growing problem as the Reaper? It was possible he could take the creature on his own, but dare he try when aid was at his doorstep?

And not useless fodder as the feral shifter had been.

“Your hubris will be our downfall.” He sighed, and Jesse celebrated before holding his neck in pain. Hanzo shoved a finger at Jesse. “But not until you fully recover. You are in no shape to be fighting. And not even then until we have a plan.”

“Yessir, Han.” Jesse beamed at him. Hanzo couldn’t fight back the blush that burned his cheeks at the sudden nickname. A phenomenon like that hadn’t happened since before his fallout with Genji…

“Get some rest.”

After Jesse gave him a wink and turned around, Hanzo collapsed back onto the couch. This wolf would be the ultimate death of him. One second he was quiet and contemplating his life’s choices, the next he was a chattering magpie and practically flirting with him. It gave him whiplash. And was that a _nickname?_ He barely knew him! Just… the sooner he was rid of him, the better. For both their sakes.

 

_Do I really want to be alone again?_

 

Hanzo shook his head, attempting to physically fling the thoughts cropping up from his mind. The hunter would not want to stick around such a sullen hermit like himself. And since when did he require anyone’s company but his own?

 

_Even one who doesn’t walk on embers around you as if he’ll get burned?_

 

The cursed voice in the back of Hanzo’s mind whispered sweet nothings about the hunter into his inner ear, calling out what ifs and could be s surrounding  him in a manner of  mundane activities . Hanzo ignored them  with a scowl.  Who was he to want companionship from a mere stranger? The dragon almost wished the hunter had completed his original  goal up on that mountain.

 

Jesse sat heavily on the bed. He pulled the borrowed shirt off and let it fall to the floor. He hadn’t payed any attention to what time of day it was outside, though the constant blizzard made it hard to tell regardless. The few hours he had spent in Hanzo’s company had gone surprisingly quick and if he had to guess, he would say it was early evening. He studied the covered window. The room did seem to be growing steadily darker, a soft shadow-less hue to the light barely making its way into the room.

It would have been simple for Jesse to fall asleep had he been in one of his favorite taverns or inns. But here, he was still on edge. A sense of restlessness still permeated the air. Any moment now he had expected Hanzo to come sneaking into the room with his light, almost nonexistent footsteps. The thought kept him up, the hours slowly ticking by as the soft light continued to dim until it sent his surroundings plunging into darkness.

Jesse had spent his time looking over his room, studying it, getting to know it. It wasn’t very big but not extremely small either, spanning maybe 15 or so feet across. The wardrobe, drawers, bed, and mirror took up most of the space. There was a single simple chair sat in the corner near the bed. Jesse grabbed it, positioning it in the other corner. He sat there, instead of on the bed, watching the door. There were no advantages to being stuck in this room, and even less outside of it, but at least from here, Hanzo could not sneak up on him, or any other threat for that matter as he was less likely to fall asleep in a chair.

The hours slowly ticked by. Jesse gradually sank from his upright position to leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. He twined his fingers together. Any and all plans he could come up with—and there were many—all depended on knowing exactly what kind of barrier surrounded the house—if it surrounded the house at all—and if it covered the exits. Jesse wouldn’t doubt the magic to be blocking his escape from the windows. It was the front door, the only one he had spied in the entire house, that he questioned. The only other exit may exist in either Hanzo’s quarters or the garden.

Though the more Jesse thought about it, the more he wondered if he really needed to escape. If the dragon had intended to kill, he’d had plenty of opportunities already.

 

And yet, there he remained, perched in the chair, awaiting daylight or an attacker. Whichever came first.

 

It had been ages since Jesse had been allowed so much time to himself. To shrink back into his mind. To dwell on the many memories of his past that he had spent so much effort to shove down and lock away. His mind’s voice told stories of his past adventures, recounting his mistakes and shortcomings that led to wounds or deaths, his victories that still let to wounds or deaths but with a brighter, less violent future to look forward to. Little time was spent on his mentor, her black hair that was no doubt as silvery as his bullets by now. Her memory, one of the possible deaths, was just as hard to recount as his mother’s. She may have taught him to shoot, but she had done it with a calloused, loving hand. Next came what always pushed it’s way forward, but it was short-lived. He had begun to compare the similarities between Hanzo’s eyes and his one night lover’s once again when the soft pit-pat of bare feet alerted him to the other man’s movement about the house.

Instead of going directly to Jesse’s door, he heard the footsteps recede. They faded almost completely away, Jesse having to get up and move quietly toward the door if he wanted to keep tracking them. He pressed against it, straining to hear. Hanzo’s footsteps remained silent. There was a sound like the man picking something up, the only clue that he was still moving around the house. He couldn’t possibly know that Jesse was still awake.

Could he?

For all he knew, Hanzo could be some kind of psychic or sight-seer. He obviously held his own secrets. There was no telling what other abilities Hanzo held. Somehow, Jesse wouldn’t put it past Hanzo to be able to see through the walls of the cottage or read his mind.

Jesse flipped to the side of the door, pressing into the wall instead. He inched the door open, begging it not to creak. It widened just enough for the hunter to peek out. Waiting for him out in the living area was…

 

...Nothing.

 

Jesse slowly pulled the door further open, his tired eyes fully alert as he slowly stepped out. The only sign that Hanzo had ever been in the room was the missing book and cups from the table. One of those must have been what Jesse heard him pick up, though he would have bet his right arm that it had been something much larger.

He continued to the kitchen, keeping close to the wall that shared itself with his room. Leaning around the corner, Jesse spied nothing out of the ordinary. The cups sat on a towel to the right of a small sink. No food was being prepared, no other drinks being poured. The hunter came off the wall and sighed. A small creak and a step made him tense back up again, spinning around to meet his supposed attacker.

Hanzo paused as he looked up from his book, stepping through the rune covered doorway. His eyes blinked once, then twice, as he processed Jesse staring back at him.

“You are awake.” He finally said, voice only slightly rough with sleep.

“And you’re creepin’ around the place like you got somethin’ ta hide.” Jesse shot back, all defenses up.

Hanzo stepped fully into the cottage and shut the door gently behind him. He made his way toward the table to set his book onto it. A hand rested on its cover. “I simply did not wish to wake you.”

Jesse let out a simple, indignant grunt.

Hanzo chuckled and looked up at his guest. “You and I both know that if I meant to kill you, I would have done so already.” The dragon strode over to the kitchen. As he passed Jesse, he said, “Or had just let you die in the snow.”

The laugh that attempted to force its way out of Jesse’s belly was as awkward as they came. He ended up huffing out a sigh as Hanzo went to his stove. Jesse followed, but just far enough to lean against a counter and cross his arms and feet. A hand waved in the air as he asked, “So, uh, need any help with breakfast or anythin’?”

“No,” Hanzo said simply.

Jesse shrugged. “Mind if I check out your garden then?”

Hanzo hummed. “If you must.” Then, as Jesse was pushing off the counter, he added, “Do not touch anything. Most of the plants and supplies within are rare, and I do not wish to have to resupply my stock.”

Jesse crossed his arms once more, facing Hanzo and squaring his shoulders. “You implyin’ I’m gonna go in there and destroy everythin’?”

Hanzo remained at the stove, not even bothering to face Jesse. He had begun to pull out a pot, noodles, fish, and various vegetables. Jesse hadn’t seen any actual food producing plants in the greenery, but assumed the dragon must have planted his own. The man didn’t seem to leave his little mountainside homestead very often.

“How am I to know for sure?” Hanzo said. Jesse stared at him, waiting. For what, he didn’t know, but there was the tiniest hint of the same teasing tone from the previous night. When Hanzo gave him nothing else, Jesse let out a sound of frustration, threw his hand into the air, and yanked open the door. Hanzo only just barely let a tiny quirk of his lips form around a small laugh.

Jesse grumbled to himself as he brought the door to a close behind him. _Stupid damn dragon. Of course he wasn’ gonna destroy his garden somehow. He wasn’ a child._ He looked at the shimmering blue walls around him. Why didn’t Hanzo just connect the greenery to his house? There had to be some special reason beyond the warm fire keeping the plants alive in the surrounding blizzard. Jesse thought about the runes set into everything, including the door leading to this place. Could there be more the rumors of treasures within the dragon’s keep aside from his scale?

A bit of humidity met Jesse as he entered into the greenery. The heavy mist from before had been transformed into a soft falling rain instead. He was glad for the thin fabric as opposed to his thicker armor. Jesse tilted his head back, letting the rain hit his face. Above him were the wispiest, fluffiest looking clouds he had ever seen. They were just as blue as the shimmering walls surrounding the greenery as well as the magic Hanzo used to form the image of the Reaper. The longer Jesse was near the dragon, the more powerful he turned out to be. The people were truly lucky that Hanzo had never felt the need to exact revenge on the town below.

There was an odd bit of coziness to the greenery. Jesse could feel it on his skin as he meandered through the rain, ran his fingers along the plants that he knew held no toxins, and gazed at the ones he didn’t recognize. He walked first toward the large shelving and cabinet space that Hanzo had led him to when he first woke up. Against Hanzo’s wishes, he let his fingers glide over the wood, careful not to let any rough parts shove splinters into his skin—though most of the material felt incredibly smooth. Had he placed a protection spell over it? Or treated it with something? The sleek wood was soon replaced in his mind as he found the many jars containing a plethora of whole, chopped, ground, and diced ingredients. Despite the itch in his hands, Jesse left the jars alone. Clumsy only outside of battle, the hunter was prone to dropping things and these jars would be no different. Instead, he got up close, reading the elegant script scrawled across decently sized labels that took up half the height of most of the clear containers.

“Mistletoe, Wolf’s Bane, Mandrake, Lavender, Sage...” Jesse paused and back-peddled to the jar full of purple petals, green leaves, and even stems. He squinted at it, leaning in. “Lavender? What’s he need lavender for besides sleepin’ well at night?”

Jesse shook it from his mind and shrugged. Who knew what he’d need it for. Hanzo was the magic filled dragon; Jesse was just a hunter who bought potions with labels like “demon-killing” and “protection from hell-fire.” He’d only dabbled in a few creations of simple potions, mostly when he studied under his past mentor. It’d been years since he used anything complex. Most of the monsters he fought were small time, needing a simple potion for either them or himself, but mostly he used either silver, iron, or elemental magicked bullets.

It was interesting to peruse all of Hanzo’s already made potions, taking a mental stock of some, but he had remembered his original reason for entering the greenery. Jesse turned from the long cabinet and toward the rows upon rows of plants. It would most likely be best to start along the edge of the barrier making up the walls of the greenery. He followed the long cabinet until it came close to intersecting with the shimmering wall—but not quite touching—then followed it. The urge to run his fingers along the wall attempted to consume him. The rippling blue made it seem like it should cool to the touch like water, but knowing the type of magic Hanzo wielded warned him that it would most definitely sear off his skin.

Jesse kept his eyes peeled, searching for any sign of a hidden door or gateway within the ground, walls, and ceiling. He went slowly. There was no need to really rush. If he did not make it back before Hanzo was finished with breakfast, then he’d either wait, come looking for him, or leave the food be until he returned. And if he came looking for him and Jesse had someone found his way out, then that would be that, wouldn’t it?

 

He wondered once more if it was an escape from being trapped in a house that he was really looking for, or if it was a way out from the man who was nursing him back to health.

 

The sigh Jesse was about to let loose stuck in his throat like molasses when he looked left past some low plants, his journey down the side of the wall almost complete, and noticed an odd vacancy of plant-life. His eyebrows stitched together as he turned, carefully stepping over and around the flowering plants hopping none were poisonous as he didn’t recognize any of them. He soon came up to the clear land. It was bare, only covered in soft dirt. In the center of the oddly perfect circle, was what seemed to be a trapdoor or basement door. One side was raised higher than the other, protruding from the ground to a height just below Jesse’s knees and facing away from the front of the greenhouse. The doors were wooden, the ornate handles made from iron, and the frame from stone. There were no decorations aside from the swirling leaves of the handles, nor were there any symbols of protection such as there were on other areas of the cottage.

Jesse hesitated. Whatever was down there didn’t seem to pose a threat, or even as a gateway out, if the lack of warding sigils was anything to go by. Yet it still spurned the curiosity inside him. If he were in a dungeon searching out ghouls or the ghost of a lost king, these doors may have led to incomprehensible treasures. It could also hold the answer to whatever mystery lurked among the halls above it. The hunter bit at his lip.

 

Ah, what the hell.

 

He reached out slowly with his prosthetic. If any unseen traps lied in wait for some idiot to come traipsing in and opening the short doors, the protection runes within his prosthetic would take the brunt of it. Luckily, there were no such traps awaiting him as he flung one door open.

A set of steep stone stairs gaped at him out of the darkness within. Having his magic, Hanzo obviously never really needed lanterns or torches or lights to mark his way. Jesse cursed magic folk and their disregard for non magic folks like himself who needed to snoop around where they did not belong. Jesse released the deep sigh he had held back before. It seemed that he wasn’t quite meant to traverse this secret room just yet.

With a small heave, Jesse closed the door, careful not to let it slam as it sank back into place. When he could next find a lantern or his matchbox, he would come back.

For now, Jesse continued his scouting of the perimeter. By the time he had circled all the way back around and returned to the cottage, Hanzo was beginning to set finely made ceramic bowls out on his small table among the various others full of food. It wasn’t until the light aroma from the several pots on the low stove hit his nose that Jesse realized just how hungry he was. His stomach growled like a ravenous beast. A hand flew over it as if he could silence it with a touch. He heard a small chuckle come from Hanzo.

“I see your walk worked up an appetite. Come, the food is ready.” Hanzo sat down across from Jesse, instantly picking up his chopsticks. In front of Jesse were his own pair, as well as a fork and spoon. Hanzo noticed him contemplating the silverware and offered, “I did not know if you knew how to use chopsticks, so I provided you with a fork and spoon. I keep some on hand for specific dishes or even… guests, if I were to ever have any.”

Jesse nodded. “Well, thank ya kindly, then. Might as well try it your way, though. Wouldn’t be my first time.”

Despite his confident words, Jesse fumbled with the ceramic chop sticks until he had them sitting precariously between his fingers. He looked up then to study the many bowls before him. The one closest to him already held plain white rice while another held some kind of soup, no doubt where the noodles from earlier had gone. It had little white squares floating among small green strips of onion and mushroom. In the smaller bowls toward the center of the table, Jesse could see some pan-grilled fish and various vegetables, both already chopped into easily grabbed pieces. Hanzo waited, chopsticks in hand, while Jesse clumsily but successfully scooped his portions of the foods into his bowl with the rice. He ate quickly, his ravenous hunger clouding his manners.

Hanzo couldn’t decide whether he wanted to sigh or chuckle at the man’s—once again—lack of manners. He settled on shaking his head, pushing back the tiny smile that insisted on trying to twitch the corners of his lips up, and grabbed the tea kettle setting on the edge of the table. He divided out two small cups and poured the steaming liquid into the cups. Jesse watched as the light green liquid swirled down into place. After finishing the large amount of food shoved into his mouth, Jesse gently took the cup into his hands.

It was a fairly simple thing compared to the rest of the dishware. It was a perfect circle, though slightly thinner and taller than most teacups he had used or seen before, and lacked a handle. The only decoration on the cups were a gradient painting of color that faded from a gentle sea green to a sandy brown. It reminded Jesse of the small pond he used to play with frogs in near his childhood home. It was a memory he had forgotten about, even while telling Hanzo his tragic tale.

Jesse held the cup in both of his hands, one on the bottom and one on the side. He took a slow drink, careful not to burn his lips and tongue. The tea was different but held an oddly refreshing taste he didn’t expect from a hot drink. Jesse let out a pleased hum as he licked his lips. Hanzo let out a satisfied smile.

“I usually only ever drink the nearest alcohol, but this… this is a new experience altogether.” Jesse said, taking another drink. He pointed one finger at the cup, eyes alight. “More people should drink this.”

Hanzo chuckled. “You act as if you have never had tea before.”

“Like I said, I mostly go for the nearest alcohol. Doesn’t typically matter which one to me, though the stronger the better.”

Hanzo glanced over his shoulder at the cabinet near the back of the dining area. “You have not tried liquor until you have tried the sake from my homeland.”

Jesse pointed his chopsticks at Hanzo. “Oh yeah? Well you’ve obviously never been to the great Wilhelm Brewery in the Northern Range. Best beer I ever did have the pleasure of taste-testin’.”

Hanzo scoffed. “Beer? Let me guess: This Wilhelm Brewery sells a tasteless drink made out of past-season wheat and slopped into a large mug to be thrown around a tavern?”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “That’s typically the definition of beer, yeah. And no, not just wheat. He uses barley sometimes too.”

“Ah, so he uses barley as well. And you’re telling me people travel into the frigid mountains of the north and risk frostbite for this unrefined drink?”

“Nah,” Jesse drawled. He shoveled the last bits of his rice into his mouth before switching to the bowl of soup. “He’s at the base of the mountains. Much colder here than there, really.”

“I should not be surprised. With the etiquette you display at the table, it is quite understandable that you would _enjoy_ such a drink.”

Jesse looked up sharply. He pointed his spoon toward Hanzo this time. “Hey, now! I may be a bit uncouth, but my preference has nothin’ to do with it! I could say the same for you, partner. You’re just as stuck up as that--”

“Sake, made of rice,” Hanzo provided, arms crossing.

“That _sake._ ” Jesse spat out. “Maybe someone should take the chopstick out of both you and that rice drink’s ass so you’d enjoy life a li’l more, don’t’cha think?”

Hanzo harrumphed. “Fine. I will prove to you that sake is obviously the better choice of drink.”

Jesse paused and blinked his eyes rapidly. “That ain’t exactly what I meant. Plus I doubt you have any of Wilhelm’s stuff on hand here.”

Hanzo uncrossed his arms and stood. He began gathering up his empty bowls. “I must travel in a couple days for some items and ingredients I am low on and cannot provide for myself. While I am out, I will procure this beer for you, and prove its inferiority.”

Jesse couldn’t help but laugh. “Whatever you say, darlin’. If that’s what’ll help you sleep at night.”

“It will,” Hanzo insisted with vigor, causing Jesse to break out into a deep belly laugh. Hanzo scowled at him.

“Oh, don’t look at me with such a face.” Jesse said, his laugh calmed down. He leaned back in his chair, draping an elbow over its back, and grinned up at Hanzo. The slight wave of heat that started in the pit of Hanzo’s stomach and traveled up his chest and into his cheeks made him scowl deeper.

“I will give you whatever face I wish.” Hanzo grumbled as he turned on Jesse who let out an awkward laugh.

Jess couldn’t help the shake of his head. “You’re kinda hard to joke with, y’know that, darlin’?”

Hanzo kept his back to Jesse as he found excuses to keep his hands busy. He scoffed. Jesse answered with another laugh. How the man so easily let his guard down after suspecting Hanzo to be a danger to him the previous day, including possibly poisoning him.

“So, uh, think I can get my weapons back now? Seein’ as how I ain’t a danger to someone who, y’know, kinda saved my life like an angel sent on high.” When Hanzo turned, Jesse was still in his previous pose. His eyes were bright and expectant. Hanzo could find no reasons not to indulge the hunter in his possessions. After all, he had nothing else up here on this mountain, not even Hanzo’s _warm_ personality.

“Of course.” Hanzo said. Jesse waited, leaning forward, as Hanzo disappeared into his bedroom. He came back not too much longer with Jesse’s weapons, belts, and extra ammo piled carefully into his arms. He sat them down one by one onto the table in front of their owner. Jesse grabbed up his gun, cradling it to his chest like a long lost infant. He cooed and stroked at it, mumbling sweet nothings to the wide barrel. Hanzo could, strangely, relate. “If you would like, I have some polish that you could use on it.”

“Peacekeeper,” Jesse said, looking up. “And that’d be great. Haven’t gotten the chance to clean her since I decided to come up this gods-forsaken mountain.”

“If you will excuse me, I must go retrieve it. I do not keep it within my bed chambers. I keep it...” Jesse noticed Hanzo’s slight pause. Of course he would not know that Jesse had ran across the secret room, if that was what Hanzo was even beating around. “...Elsewhere.”

Jesse nodded and feigned tipping his missing hat. He settled for a casual two finger salute that was more akin to a backwards wave than a salute. Hanzo left him once more with a quick flourish toward the greenery’s door.

_Ah,_ Jesse thought.  _So I might’ve been right._ He had seen no other door or anything resembling an armory where Hanzo might keep something like weapon polish.  Though, why such a powerful dragon sorcerer would need weapons or armor, Jesse had no idea. He hadn’t even seen a practice ground. Maybe there was more  _beneath_ the cottage and greenhouse than Hanzo was letting on.

Jesse looked to the wooden floorboards at his feet..

 

What else could he be hiding just below his feet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my best friend for beta reading for me! Unfortunately I can't tag her...  
> And thanks to hob4tae for the continued support and the bouncing off of ideas  
> This chapter came along a lot faster than I thought it would! The next one will probably be a little slower since half of this one was already written when I posted chapter 1. 
> 
>  If you wanna keep up to date with small details, follow me on tumblr at KingSmoft and check for my "sbads updates" tag! I try to post a small update at least once a day.
> 
> As always: Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> (Post-Update-Edit: Lowered the rating to Teen instead of mature for now!)


	3. Begonia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Begoniaceae_
> 
> _\--any of a large genus of tropical or subtropical herbs and shrubs that have asymmetrical leaves and are widely cultivated as ornamentals_
> 
> _**Be Cautious, Deep Thinking**_

Much to Hanzo’s relief, much of the day had Jesse in near silence. When he did speak, he spoke to his equipment, his gun especially, as if they were pets or even a child, cooing at how pretty they looked once he had given them his utmost attention to cleaning everything. His voice was soft and slow, laced tight with sleepiness. He wondered if Jesse had actually slept the previous night, contrary to his original—albeit wavering—belief. It had been a curious occurrence for Jesse to appear so early in the morning while obviously still needing to recover. There was, however, nothing Hanzo could do about it.

When Jesse continued his concentrated silence until just after a decent lunch time, roused only partially by the grumbling in his stomach, Hanzo set out simple dried meats and fruits. Still engrossed in his work, Jesse settled with picking at the food without looking. Nary a hummed approval came from himas he ate. He could admit, somewhere in the back of his mind, that they were delicious. Their simple taste reminded him of a warm bed in a cold winter’s morning in that all-encompassing and comfortable way keeping its occupant from ever wanting to get up. Had it really been so long since the hunter had gotten to eat food that held flavor and quality and wasn’t needing to be rationed or tossed to the dogs?

It really must have been.

Jesse thought back to his mother’s cooking, similar but different from Hanzo’s. He could taste and smell the difference in spices. Where Hanzo’s tended to be light—so far, anyway—Jesse’s mother loved flavors that were thick and savory, sometimes even spicy enough to burn his tongue. Jesse relished those cold nights where she would boil up a large pot of stew or chili, the warmth of the food fighting off the chill of his bones after a long day of rolling in the snow. He doubted he could play in the snow outside this cabin without getting frostbite within minutes, if not seconds.

“How d’ya deal with stayin’ cooped up in this damn cabin all the time?” The irritation was plain in his voice. Jesse feared he would lose his mind to his thoughts if he stayed in any one, quiet place too long.

Hanzo hummed. So the wolf speaks once more. He chuckled. “I am free to leave whenever I wish. I do not _have_ to stay ‘cooped up all the time.’”

Jesse sat Peacekeeper onto the table, letting the cylinder remain propped out. The bullets were laid out in front of it, lined perfectly in a row, about an inch between each one and surrounded by the cleaning supplies. Hanzo had watched while Jesse set up his workspace, aligning the bore brush, cleaning rod, rags and patches, and bottles of gun oil and solvent in neat placements in front of him after cleaning off the table. It reminded him of the painting exercises his mother used to make himself and his brother do, with how every piece of equipment had its proper place. Hanzo had never seen anyone else take such stock into the care of their weapons like he did. He had begun to wonder if anyone ever accurately shot anything or even had working equipment.

“That still didn’ answer my question, though.” Jesse said, pulling Hanzo roughly out of his reverie. Jesse could feel the irritation of a sleepless night seeping its way into him. “I know you can leave, you’re a frikkin’ dragon with wings and shit.”

“I do not have _wings,_ ” Hanzo said with indignation. He then sighed and shook his head. “I enjoy my solitude. I do not have to put up with any nosy Hunters asking who I am or why I am wherever it is I have visited.” He smirked at Jesse who feigned offense but remained prickly. Hanzo looked down to the gun resting on the table. “Those who learn about me usually fear me. And it is not hard to find out when they see the dragon on my arm. It is known, even here, for being a moniker of my clan.”

“Well that’s just damned stupid.” Jesse said, leaning back in his chair, gun momentarily forgotten. Hanzo’s eyes flashed up to Jesse, brown irises bright in confusion. He was scowling, eyebrows pulled tight over his reddening eyes. “There ain’t no reason those people should be afraid of you because of what you are. It ain’t like you’re the one who’s cursed and likely to destroy a whole village with one wrong turn. You could even transform, willingly, and set fire to them for startin’ baseless rumors but you don’t. If anythin’ I’m the one who should be put up on a pyre, but they invite me in with arms spread wide because I kill the other bad things, making them forget I also went bump in the night once upon a full moon.”

“They have plenty of reason to fear me. You must be as dull as I presumed to not know who I am by the sight of this.” Hanzo pushed up his left sleeve to reveal the raging dragon of the storm, its mouth open, ready to consume anything and everything.

Jesse fished out a cigar. He still had no way to light the damned thing. He tossed it angrily, sending it flying across the table until it skittered to a stop at Hanzo. Leaning back roughly, Jesse sniffed, crossed his arms, and huffed,“Don’t reckon I do.”

Hanzo picked up the cigar and turned it around in his fingers. “You mean to tell me that the one true rumor about me has never reached your ear?”

Jesse shrugged. Maybe it had, maybe it hadn’t. Why did he care so much? “I don’t always take stock in _rumors_ , darlin’. I came up here to see a dragon, and _maybe_ kill it, remember? Most of my hunts have a precursor of stakin’ out before I ever even make a move. Just because someone said a monster was eatin’ their sheep don’t mean I’m gonna go shoot the first wolf I see. There’s always more to the story than some poor sap damned to a shitty existence.”

“You do not deem all monsters worthy of death?” Hanzo asked, eyes still on the cigar.

“I’ve met some plain ole humans more worthy of a death sentence than some ‘monsters.’” Jesse drew tight air quotes with his fingers.

“What about…” Hanzo paused. His eyes remained unseeing. Jesse raised an eyebrow. “Ones that have killed?”

“Darlin’,” Jesse said, voice and body suddenly exhausted, the irritation draining from him. “If that were my policy, I should’ve offed myself a long time ago.”

Jesse stood and wandered from the table, his tone final. Hanzo let him go as he made his way toward the couch. Flipping around, he dropped onto the small piece of furniture. With legs and arms sprawling off the edges, he heaved a deep sigh and dropped an arm over his eyes.

 

Maybe just a short little cat nap would be okay, maybe ease the irritation causing his words to sting.

 

Yeah, Hanzo wouldn’t mind, right?

 

Maybe he’d even stab him in his—not—sleep, and he wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

 

 

 

If Jesse had meant to embellish on his cryptic statement, Hanzo didn’t know and didn’t dare push. Secrets were no stranger to him, even if his secrets weren’t quite as hidden as he would have liked them to be. It was odd, though, knowing Jesse either truthfully didn’t know about his past, or had elected to ignore it.

Hanzo looked over the snoozing hunter sprawled out on his too small couch. His left leg hung over the armrest while his right arm and leg dangled off the side. His left arm still covered his eyes, but his mouth hung open, a soft snore rumbling through the quiet living room. Hanzo couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his lips as he shook his head. Whatever the case may be, he felt comfortable enough to fall asleep on his couch, Peacekeeper still lying open and empty on the table.

The dragon pulled an old quilt from a rack waiting patiently near the fireplace. It was blue and green, with swirls of white and gray, colors that more suited Hanzo than the hunter, but he whipped it out over him, letting it fall gently into place. Despite the hunter seeming to be surrounded in red as deep as dried blood and the dark black of an abyss, something about the cool tones of the blanket seemed to counteract all of that. It seemed that blue could almost suit the man if he’d let it. A nice calm pool surrounding the chaos.

 

_Orange. He was surrounded by a bright, burning orange like being captured in the center of a bright star. Jesse whipped around, his entire body on fire, the fur singed black._

_He had had this dream—this_ nightmare— _many times before._

_He recognized the house that was burning down, the screams that rang sharp in his ears, the cold winter’s—wait._

_No, no that wasn’t right._

_Jesse rushed outside, a usual next step in the dream, and busted out of a nearby window. All around him on the ground was snow._ _The wolf pawed it, searching for the field of flowers that usually filled the meadow, busting to the brim with sweet scents, that were charred in his nightmare. He knew they weren’t there, but continued searching, rushing to other piles of snow and digging and digging and digging until he finally turned to face the small homestead._

_The wolf froze the instance he laid eyes on what was now a decently sized cottage with bright walls of shimmering blue spreading out behind it. He walked forward, nose twitching in the air, as a scream—a single scream, not multiple—erupted from within the cottage._

_Not again, Jesse thought. I can’t let them—him?—die again. Jesse ignored the pull in his chest at a thought of_ him _dying, whoever he was. Jesse knew he had to save the people within, a feat, no matter how many times he had the nightmare, he could never pull off._

_Jesse ran. He pushed through the front door, the only entrance he could find, and followed the deepening scream. The living room with the tiny couch seemed to stretch on forever, his feet constantly tripping as his claws scratched against the hardwood floor._

_On and on he went like that until he finally slammed into the door etched with sigils. He clawed at it, eventually splintering the wood until he could gallop, feet covered in deep red blood._

_Unique to his dream was the greenery. They didn’t have a greenery like he does. But this greenery, it looked just like the meadow had. Except this one was on fire with black flames dark like an abyss._ _Jesse_ _threw himself forward, directly into the flames. Somehow they didn’t burn his skin, but his lungs were a different story. The thick smoke filled his lungs, suffocating them, rotting them. Jesse pushed forward, not knowing where to go, but also knowing exactly where to go. The black flames and smoke surrounded him, a cloud of death and pain._

_Finally, Jesse came upon the angled trap doors. There. He was in there._

_Jesse grabbed for the doors, his hands suddenly human once more. The metal handles—now spiked instead of leafy—burned his hands a bright red. He recoiled with a shout. A loud boom made him duck down as the doors blew outward. Jesse practically fell down the stone steps._

_A silent name flew off Jesse’s tongue as he landed at the bottom. The air here was still. The flame’s behind him nearly forgotten, the smoke lifted from most of his lungs_ _except the deepest caverns. When he stepped forward, the click of his boots and the jingle of his spurs echoed like light blue water drops. They rippled across his vision, lightening the stone walls as he walked._

_Cool blue brightened and brightened until it eventually blinded him before falling away to nothing but a simple candlestick sitting in the middle of a small room. It wasn’t until then that he realized the hoarse screaming had ceased. It still echoed in his ears and whispered that it came from the man lying on the floor in front of him, crossed tunic ripped and falling from strong shoulders._

_Jesse ran forward with the increased volume of dripping water. He splashed up to the man, the light surrounding him melting from the orange hue of a flame to something softer. He grabbed the man, his head lolling back in his arms, his long hair falling from his face. The man’s face shifted, never settling on one specific person, but those eyes._

_Those eyes he had known for just a day and a half, but he already knew them like he did his mother’s._

_Jesse lifted the body, easily heaving it up. The body went slack. It shifted and melted, turning into the same cool blue of the water around him, dripping through his fingers like warm honey. He watched as Hanzo’s liquid body mixed with the water, swirling gently until it shimmered like the magical walls around the greenery. The newly shimmering water began to rise, tendrils crawling up and around Jesse’s legs like serpents until they reached his shoulders. A whispering voice brushed his hears._

 

_“Blue looks good on you.”_

 

_Jesse gasped as the water surrounded him completely, filling his lungs, lifting him from the ground. But somehow, he didn’t choke. Instead, the water shifted from a shimmering blue to a soft, almost hazy, pink. If he could describe what being inside a cloud might feel like, he’d say it was this, a soft, pink hue like a late sunset. It was calming. Natural._

 

_Until it vanished, and he was falling._

 

Jesse was startled awake with a scream that stuck thick in his throat. His body jolted forward, hands clawing at the unknown vice tangling around his limbs. He kicked and pulled at the same time, effectively ripping the blanket almost completely in two down the center. Jesse froze then, realization hitting him like a hard rock.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He’d meant to just rest, regain some semblance of control, ebb the irritation sending dark tendrils out to anyone— _Hanzo—_ nearby. He hadn’t meant to fall into the pit of that dream again.

Looking down at the ruined blanket, Jesse wondered if the now fading addition to his nightmare had been simply because of his situation, or something more. But how could he say it was actually Hanzo? The more he thought about it, the odder the nightmare-turned-dream became. He began to question if parts of his dream even happened… Was it really Hanzo’s cottage? Was there any truth to what he saw beneath it? Did blue really suit him…?

“What… happened?” Hanzo’s rough voice pulled Jesse out of his racing thoughts. The pull between Hanzo’s eyebrows grew deeper. _This is it,_ Jesse thought, _This is how I get myself tossed out of here_ _and left to die in the blizzard like I should have before_ _._ When Hanzo rushed over and sat next to him, Jesse froze. When the other man placed the back of his hand against his forehead, Jesse jumped. When his other hand came up to wipe his brow with the back of his sleeve, he froze once more. “You are covered in sweat. Are you okay?”

Jesse rose his eyes to stare into Hanzo’s deep brown ones. Despite the roughness in his voice, Jesse could still pick out the concern lacing it. Why was he so concerned?

“Jesse?” Hanzo asked when he still didn’t answer him. Jesse blinked dumbly. He began nodding his head. It was then that he realized Hanzo still held his face in his hands. He decided to blame the heat in his cheeks on the aftermath of the nightmare. Hanzo seemed to notice and jumped up. He quickly returned and pressed a cool rag to Jesse’s face, swatting the shaky fingers away, insisting to help Jesse further.

“I-I’m fine, darlin’.” Jesse mumbled, still fighting against Hanzo’s hands.

“You are not _fine_ , Jesse. Allow me to help you.”

Jesse grunted but let him continue. He fished around for the cigars, hoping Hanzo had left them on the short table. With luck, he’d be able to calm the quaking in his fingers with a deep drag of nicotine. He muttered a thanks when Hanzo held one aloft in front of him, quickly lighting it once it was out of his fingers. While Jesse reveled in his vice, Hanzo lifted his chin with gentle fingers. He pulled at the bandage, checking to make sure the strain did not cause any bleed-through.

“What happened? Did you have a night terror?” Hanzo asked again. He left the bandage alone but didn’t leave Jesse’s side.

Jesse sighed around his cigar. “Somethin’ like that, I guess.” He looked away. _In, out. In, out. Breathe,_ _Jesse, breathe._ The calming voice of his mentor floated out from his memories to remind him to just _breathe_.

“I understand if you do not wish to talk about it.” Hanzo said softly. He placed a tentative hand on Jesse’s shoulder. The hunter remained silent. Hanzo leaned forward just enough to try and catch Jesse’s eye. He seemed hesitant. Hanzo tried to keep the uncertain eagerness from his voice. “ _Do_ you wish to talk about it?”

The images of Hanzo screaming, melting through his fingers like water or honey or anything viscous, swirling around him in an odd watery embrace.

There was no way in Hell’s great graces that he was gonna tell Hanzo about that.

Jesse roughly stood and made his way over to his unfinished gun. If he didn’t want to tell him, then there was no way he’d be able to talk to the man without spilling his entire guts about the dream.

Hanzo’s hand was pushed from his shoulder and left wondering if he shouldn’t have even asked. He couldn’t help himself. This was a man that he had nursed back to health on a whim. There was something about him that screamed from long lost instincts: _**Protect**_. Redemption in the form of a living being. If he could save this one, maybe his past transgressions would be forgiven.

Regretfully, though, there had been nothing he could’ve done while Jesse was dreaming, even if he had been in the room. Hanzo knew not to wake someone from such a state, as much as he disliked seeing the aftermath of sweat bead up on his forehead and the near tangible fear in his eyes. He would have much rather smoothed the frown from his face, taken him into his arms, and cradled him there until the tremors passed. Instead, he was left giving him another cigar and asking a shit question.

Hanzo watched as Jesse sat down in front of his gun. Even from the couch, Hanzo could tell the man’s hands were still shaky from the adrenaline and fear coursing through his body, but the familiar movements of handling his gun seemed to calm him. It would be best, Hanzo knew, to just leave Jesse to his own thoughts. Hanzo was still a stranger to him, after all.

 

 

It had only taken him another hour of cleaning and shining Peacekeeper before he was left fiddling with the bullets, eyes glazing over in thought. The perfect way to forget the nightmare and dream was to focus on something else entirely. Peacekeeper had busied his hands only so long before his mind began to wander, the motions all too familiar and easy to require extreme concentration. He needed something else, and the Reaper was a perfect topic.

Nothing about this Reaper sounded like anything he had fought before. He paced around the living room, ticking off on his fingers all the different monsters he had encountered. Not the ghouls, not the feral shifters, not the low-level demons, the vampires, the dark elves, nothing. He could almost place bits and pieces into different categories of monsters from what little Hanzo had told him already: rotting flesh like a ghoul, life-sucking abilities of a vampire, an elemental affinity for certain kinds of weather, a demon’s power to transform into smoke.

Jesse slammed a fist down onto the table, rocking its contents and almost tipping his glass of water over. There was something they were missing—a crucial piece of information—that would tell them exactly what they were dealing with.

Was he a witch wrapped up with the wrong demons—as if there were any _right_ ones—or a warlock tainted by the demon blood running through his veins? An elaborately cursed human that had pissed off a powerful witch? Jesse wouldn’t put it past some witches he had met. They were an incredibly spiteful bunch. He couldn’t rightly blame them, though. If someone came into his house and stole something of his, even just a bullet for Peacekeeper, he’d probably curse or hex them as well, if he hadn’t just out right killed them instead.

He looked around. Hanzo had left him a few moments after he had sat himself back down at Peacekeeper. Maybe if he bounced his ideas off to someone else, he might be able to get some help in narrowing down what they were dealing with and what weapons to use against it. The man had been helpful to him so far, once saving his life and second feeding him; two direct ways into a rather simple man’s heart. The third was booze.

Jesse would never admit that the fourth was covering him with a blanket while he slept.

Whatever the case may be, Jesse found Hanzo amidst his many flowering plants off to the left side of his greenery. He wore a simple light blue outfit—distinctly reminding Jesse of his dream—with a pair of clippers in a gloved hand. He squatted down next to his new companion, taking in the many delicate petals of the violet rimmed, white circular flower before him. It wasn’t hard to feel the shift in temperature as Jesse neared Hanzo and the flowers. It was cooler than other parts of the greenery, but not freezing, like a nice fall or spring day that promised warmth from the sun but a slight breeze that prickled your skin in the air.

Hanzo didn’t look up as Jesse neared. He gently took the flower in hand, the clippers pausing, unwanting to sever the flower from its stalk just yet. When he spoke, his voice was soft and far away. “Did you know, that despite it’s beautiful exterior, the Ranunculus, in its many forms, is poisonous to all who dare to touch it? And yet it is the symbol of charm and a message of “You are attractive” if handed over to someone else.”

Jesse let out a low whistle. “Well that’s a contradiction if I ever saw one. Who decides this anyway? Why not just make it a ‘Man, I think you’re annoyin’ as shit, have this poisonous flower.’”

Hanzo chuckled as he clipped a few of the flowers, laying them gently into a basket at his other side. “Maybe it was a one-sided love that gave birth to the meaning.”

“Yeah, I could understand that.”

Hanzo hummed in agreement. He could understand it, as well, though not in the same way that Jesse did. Hanzo felt very much like the picotee ranunculus before him. Beautiful on the outside, but a danger to anyone who came too close. Molded and created to become something specific in someone else’s eyes.

A shuffle of feet and groan came from his left and Hanzo looked up to see Jesse standing, his eyes searching the great expanse of his beloved greenery.

“Say,” Jesse began, propping his hands on his hips. “If I was a flower, which one d’you reckon I’d be?” The man began walking down the aisle, pointing at different bunches as he went along. “Maybe these cute lil yellow ones? Or these tall purple ones? I kinda like the look of these red ones here, really match the serape my ma made me when I was a kid...”

A faint smile pulled at Hanzo’s lips as he watched Jesse beam like a kid as he took in the sights of the flowers. The perfect flower came to mind as Jesse turned back to grin at him, waiting for his insight.

“I have the perfect flower to match you.” Hanzo grinned as he picked up the basket of picotee ranuncluses and walked past Jesse. The overgrown child was ripe with excitement as Hanzo stopped in front of a bunch of red, orange, pink, and white blooms with odd yellow and almost black centers. Jesse squatted down once more. He turned questioning eyes at Hanzo, who waved him forward with a silent _You may touch these._ Hanzo knelt next to Jesse.

“This is the Sparaxis, also known as a Harlequin Flower.” Hanzo said.

“You sayin’ I’m a clown?” Jesse teased with a wink.

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “I am saying that you laugh in the face of danger such as these plants do. I have also found their styling and colors to be quite interesting.”

“Laugh at danger, huh? I’d say that’s accurate.” Jesse let one red flower fall from his fingertips. “They got any cool uses?”

Hanzo shook his head. “I simply grow them out of pleasure. I do not sell them, either.”

“Well, would’ya look at that, lil buddies. Looks like I’m not the only one this old dragon here has decided to take care of on a whim.” Jesse spoke to the flowers but Hanzo blushed anyway. His eyes locked onto the gentle way Jesse caressed the petals and leaves, studying the many intricacies of the plant. They reminded him of his own hands, delicate with bandaging but firm with a sword.

The blush on Hanzo’s cheeks deepened when Jesse turned to him with a playful smile. “You need a flower, too, then.”

“A flower?”

“Yeah!” Jesse wrapped an arm underneath Hanzo’s and pulled him up, nearly knocking him from his feet if it weren’t for his tight grip. “I’d bet there’s a flower here somewhere that at least looks like you, since I don’t know shit about their meanings.”

“I could tell you their meanings,” Hanzo supplied, trying desperately not to focus on the fact that Jesse’s arm was still locked with his as they began to walk down the aisle full of flowering plants.

“Nah,” Jesse waved a hand in the air, “Let it be a surprise, a fun little adventure. Maybe it’ll even have a good connotation.”

Hanzo hummed but let Jesse pull him along anyway. They walked slow, Jesse taking in the sights around him. Aside from the ground planted flowers, they eventually came across ones in hanging planters suspended from various heights, the vines intertwining as they leapt from pot to pot. Jesse pointed here and there, asking the name of this one, the name of that one, going excitedly to an opening yellow bud he finally knew the colloquial name of. Jesse squatted down, Hanzo’s arm forgotten but still warm from the contact.

“This is a buttercup, ain’t it?” Jesse asked, turning his bright eyes onto Hanzo like a small child.

Hanzo nodded. “Is that the one you choose?”

Jesse looked back down and thought a moment. He shook his head. “Nah, this one isn’t quite right either.”

_No matter,_ Hanzo thought. The buttercup—also a ranunculus of charm and attractiveness—did not suit him. Charm was the furthest descriptive word from Hanzo’s mind for himself. Without it, his attractiveness meant next to nothing.

Jesse sighed and stood up. He glanced at Hanzo, noticed the scrunch of his face as he began to turn away, and did a double take. Jesse bit at his lip, studying the crease of his forehead. The hunter rolled his eyes at himself. He’s fought all manner of beasts and is just now getting shy? He leaned forward, a small smile on his lips, and pushed a finger into Hanzo’s forehead.

“Frownin’ doesn’t become you.” Jesse said with a laugh tagging on the end of his words. The surprise alone was enough to rouse Hanzo from his self-deprecating thoughts to stare after Jesse as he turned back to the flowers. His mouth fell open, meaning to spit a sarcastic retort, but nothing came out. The image of his younger brother, fuzzy around the edges, but sharp on his face slammed into him. He could hear his laugh as Genji would tease him, _“Why the frown, brother? It doesn’t_ _fit_ _someone like you. A scowl, maybe, but nothing so sad.”_

The breath caught in Hanzo’s lungs as his chest beat against his throat, all of his organs constricting and expanding all at once, trying desperately to escape. His mouth went from gaping for words to gaping for air. His hand clutched at his chest, deep purple nails sprouting from his fingertips like rising bruises. A growl ripped through his body as it tried to expand, shimmering, iridescent scales sprouting up on his arms.

Hanzo’s eyes flitted around desperately searching. He sprang forward, eyes locked in tunnel vision on the path ahead of him. A yelling voice—Jesse?—barely registered in his ears. He spun around, fangs bared.

“Do not follow me!” The voice that ripped from Hanzo’s throat was beyond guttural, the growl of the dragon within him taking over. The fear on Jesse’s face registered only as compliance as Hanzo spun back around and dashed toward the back of the greenery, his still human body seeming to almost fly off the ground. The only thing on Hanzo’s mind was to get to the safety of underground.

Jesse stared after Hanzo from where he sat on the ground, his balance knocked sideways when Hanzo blew past. Where those… Scales? Spreading up and down his arms? And fangs and claws ripping from his mouth and fingertips? There was a distinct feeling of Hanzo losing control. He wasn’t sure why, or if he had said something wrong on accident, but it wasn’t hard to see the truth for what it was: Hanzo and Jesse really were more alike than he had ever thought before.

Jesse warred with himself as his fingers flexed on the tightly packed dirt beneath them. If he followed Hanzo, there was the chance of the dragon ripping him to shreds. And yet, something pulled in him to follow. The same string of fate that led him up the mountain and encircled him when he lay dying in the snow.

He stood, but didn’t walk toward the cellar doors. A light drop of water splashed onto his nose. Above him, the space began to grow bright. Sunlight filtered down as the blizzard outside strengthened further and the rain effects evaporated. Jesse’s muddled brain couldn’t figure the physics of the strange phenomenon.

The war within him finally moved his feet forward, carrying him in the direction Hanzo had went. His footfalls were slow and heavy, still unsure. Until his eyes landed on a particularly _striking_ blue-violet flower. It had multiple, almost waving petals that were a deeper violet within and rimmed with white on the tips of each petal. The center seemed to glow with the same white. The leaves beneath each flower were a rich verdant green.

 

This one.

 

This was the one.

 

This was the flower that represented Hanzo. He didn’t have the slightest clue what meaning it held, or if it even had one. Did all flowers have a meaning? Or just a select few?

Jesse began to reach down before he remembered Hanzo’s warning about the first flowers he had been clipping, and paused.

“You wait there, now,” Jesse commanded the flowers, pointing at them as he trotted backward, hoping Hanzo had dropped the clippers somewhere. Seeing nothing, Jesse sighed, hands on his hips. “If I were clippers, where would I be?”

He returned to the front of the greenery. There had to be at least one more pair somewhere around here. If Jesse had learned a lick about Hanzo in the past two days, it was the sheer amount of preparedness the man exhibited. He wouldn’t doubt if he had at least two of everything he owned. Including gardening sheers.

Jesse ran his fingers across the shelves as he looked. Vials upon bottles upon bottles upon jars and jars and jars. There were multiple mortars and pestles, presumably for different ingredients that should avoid each other in quick succession. There were loose flowers, roots, and herbs lying on some of the counter tops. Jesse turned from the cabinets. Maybe he could find a garden shed? He glanced around the front area until he spotted a tall yet slender wardrobe. Jesse went to it and threw the doors open. They slammed back, causing Jesse to flinch, silently apologizing to the missing Hanzo.

“Alright, here we go!” Jesse celebrated by clapping his hands and rubbing them together. Inside were extra clippers and gloves hanging on hooks. Rakes, hoes, and other tall tools sat against the back. Jesse grabbed the smallest shears then paused, hand hovering within the cabinet. He snatched an extra pair of gloves. There was no way for him to tell if the flower he was about to pick was poisonous or not, and he was about ready to deal with itchy or swollen hands for the next few days.

Jesse made his way back through the rows of flowers, eyes scanning until they landed on the peculiar blue-violet flower. He slipped the gloves on and knelt down, running a tender finger underneath the soft petals. Lifting the petals with one hand, he gently clipped the stem a couple inches below flower. He stood, admiring his simple handiwork.

 

Yeah, this flower would do.

 

Something about it just screamed “Hanzo!” to him. It was something beyond the mysterious design, the velvety bluish purple, and rippling form of the petals. Jesse couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but maybe Hanzo would let him in on the flower’s secret. And it had one, Jesse could feel it.

 

He took a step toward the cabin before pausing. He had considered leaving it on the table, or in front of Hanzo’s door. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned toward the double doors. They were the only thing in the direction Hanzo had fled. There was no doubt in Jesse’s mind that he had gone there, whatever lied beyond there. So he made up his mind, took the flower to the doors, and laid it on its side to wait for Hanzo.

 

In turn, Jesse returned to the cabin, took up his guns, and settled in for a long brainstorming session on what the hell they could do about that Reaper.

 

 

**~ * ~**

 

 

The next couple days were spent quietly. Jesse gave Hanzo space, unsure of how to tread the tumultuous waters he wasn’t sure if he had created. He followed Hanzo into his garden, trying to think of any potion or spell that might help them when facing the Reaper. He studied his guns, wondering about enchantments or different kinds of bullets that may help. Reaching his wits end, he tossed his hands into the air, leaning back on the small couch. A loud groan rumbled from his throat.

“Why the fuck couldn’t this be an easy job? A silver bullet right between the eyes and directly to the heart solves all kinds of problems. Paired with a wooden stake, it takes out all the rest. But no, its gotta be some unknown entity with unknown weaknesses, if _any_ , and I don’t fuckin’ know how to fight it.” Jesse pulled a cigar from his pocket and struck a match across a rough patch on his metal arm. He held it up to the tip and breathed in deep, letting out a deep sigh once lit. He waved the match in the air to snuff it out.

“We simply need more information.” Hanzo supplied as he entered the living area from the door to his quarters. Jesse glanced over to see him decked out in thicker clothing than usual, with a bow and quiver strapped to his back, and a large satchel in hand. He stepped up to Jesse and glanced him over. A twinge of heat pricked at the back of Jesse’s neck as the other man’s eyes lingered on his own before turning away. “I will ask while I am away. It is not something I have ever inquired about. I do not easily ask for… _help_.”

Jesse cleared his throat and huffed out a laugh. “I get that, partner. I always hunted alone, too.”

“This is no simple hunt, Jesse.” Hanzo quickly berated, his eyes cutting over. “This is not like your usual job. There is less known and more at stake. This entity could run wild if one or both of us dies. I would rather that not happen.”

Jesse sat in stunned silence. Hanzo’s brows had scrunched low on his face, his lips pulled into a snarl. He wondered why Hanzo had gotten so worked up over it. Supernatural forces went on rampages all the time. Where there was one hunter slain, another would show up and correct their mistakes. Maybe the town below would be in danger, but it was also a haven for hunters. The Reaper may not get very far before coming into an opposition of a small army of hunters of varying skill types.

“Why do you care so much?” Jesse asked. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The cigar hung lazily between his fingers. Smoke curled up and around between them. Normally, Jesse wouldn’t smoke indoors, but he hadn’t had much of a choice. “You run around this mountain, tail practically tucked between your legs, waiting to strike without getting your claws dirty, and suddenly you care about whether or not a small village _might_ get attacked by some creep in a blizzard?”

Silence hung in the air like a dense, poisonous fog. The fight in Hanzo’s eyes didn’t diminish, but it shifted to something that reminded Jesse of the many looks hunters wore in the dead of night at the taverns just before they got into a fight spurred on by misplaced rage and regret. When Hanzo finally spoke, his voice was soft, but Jesse felt every ounce of _purpose_ behind his words. “I had the chance to protect a small village from a threat once… I didn’t take it. I lost someone else very important to me because of it. So, _yes,_ I care that a small village _might_ get attacked by some ‘creep in a blizzard,’ because I still have no idea what threat it really poses. And I will not leave them defenseless when they do not even know what danger they are truly in.”

There were many things Jesse should have clung to in that short prose of self, but the only words that hung golden in his mind were those that he lost someone _else_ important to him. Was it too much to hope that Jesse was the other? He shifted in his seat, trying not to clear his throat or let the impending blush creep up his cheeks. Hanzo didn’t care about that kinda thing right now. He cared about taking this Reaper out. A lesser man might’ve made a move on Hanzo at that moment—and Jesse was typically that man—but he knew this was not the time to be thinking with his dick. Again.

It seemed there would never be a time to think with his dick. And how he loved to do it.

Hanzo turned from Jesse then, taking his silence for an agreement. The dragon barely turned his head to address Jesse as his hand landed on the door knob of the front door. “I will be back in no longer than two day’s time. Keep your hands to yourself, and do not destroy my house.”

Jesse slapped a forced grin onto his face as he looked up at Hanzo’s back, opting for a teasing tone. “What, you still don’t trust me, darlin’? I thought we were past that by now.”

A strained grunt was all Jesse got in return, causing him to chuckle as Hanzo wrenched the door open and stepped out through a shimmering blue strikingly familiar to that around the greenhouse. It was lighter in color, almost sky blue, with the same unfamiliar sigils floating through it as were carved into the back door. Hanzo had obviously and painstakingly taken a redundant amount of precautions to ward his cabin to intruders.

 

A wayward thought crossed his mind then: What lied beneath the cellar doors?

 

The hunter, cautious as ever, waited several hours until it was nearly the next day before he made up his mind to take a peak behind the doors. Curiosity killed the cat, but there were many other things that should have killed Jesse McCree by now, and he had survived all of them. What could possibly go wrong?

 

Jesse shuddered at the thought. Well, it was too late to take it back now. He made a sign of good faith across his chest, cocking his head at the ironic futility of it all, and made his way out into the greenery.

Once outside, Jesse meandered toward the doors, telling himself he had no reason to rush as a way to push down his mounting apprehension. He had no doubt that Hanzo would booby trap whatever laid beyond.

The soft padding of his feet through the mostly dry dirt did little to calm him, and once he stepped onto the odd stones in front of the double doors, he suddenly wished he had put some shoes on.

“Guess it’s too late for that too,” Jesse muttered to himself. He bounced in place, working his nerves into action. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and slowly pulled the doors open. The darkness below was daunting, the light surrounding him only softly piercing several steps down. They were steep and rough, a tactile relief to Jesse’s bare feet. Rough meant he could keep a steady grip as he went. Smooth would have spelled more disaster for him, more likely to cause him to slip into certain death.

Jesse took a tentative step down, softly touching the pad of his foot onto each step, testing his pressure as one would ice, deciding it was safe, and placing all of his weight down. His arms remained up, poised and ready to shift his balance in whichever direction he needed to dive and roll. Each safe step only proved to put him even further on edge.

A few times he had considered just turning tail and running back to the safety of Hanzo’s cottage. The need to _know_ pushed him further down.

Finally, Jesse came to a landing. The walls around him didn’t widen, remaining narrow and almost cramped. He could put both arms out to his sides and only reach half his wingspan, his elbows forced to remain bent and almost near his sides. Every other space in Hanzo’s cottage and greenery were spacious. Even the bedrooms, albeit small, never felt like they could collapse in on him at any moment. Jesse had never considered himself claustrophobic, but this hallway proved to test his limits.

It only took Jesse four steps to realize he might’ve made a mistake in going down here. He froze. There was a slight clicking sound before his eyes went wide as he looked up and breathed out, “Well, shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to my best friend for beta reading, and to hob4tae for such great support!
> 
> Minor update to titles! Go check the previous titles out if you're a continued reader ;) we're gettin' fancy up in here. (Do not research flowers unless you have hours to waste on going down the biggest damn rabbit hole you've ever been in... also be prepared to give yourself a new obsession. I'm obsessed with flowers now, save me.)
> 
> And also thank _you_ for reading! If you would like to keep up to date with small details, follow me on tumblr at KingSmoft and check for my "sbads updates" tag! I try to post a small update at least once a day.


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